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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273976">tactics</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed'>curtailed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ds collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Flirting, Identity Reveal, M/M, POV Outsider, Power Couple, Protective Behavior</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:15:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtailed/pseuds/curtailed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An ambassador comes to Bludhaven to meet with Lord Wilson. He's nowhere to be found, but a familiar stranger is more than happy to take the message.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ds collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tactics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ride to Bludhaven from Niame had taken almost two weeks. By then, Lan was freezing -- and miserable, at that -- with the torrent of sleet swelling in from the upcoming winter storms. Each day he slept, woke, feeling the carriage rock unsteadily under his body. He didn't know how many times they had to halt to dislodge the tires, or rest the horses, not when the skies above blended day and night into a soupy mess of dark grey clouds.</p><p>By the end of the fortnight, Bludhaven emerged into view. The sea roiled close to its shores, waves of salt surging along the docks. From the main road, Lan could see that the city was enclosed by a tall stone wall. It was more of a massive citadel, really, the buildings dotting the gentle slope of a hill. Some time it had begun snowing, wet silvery flakes smearing along the carriage's paint. The horses whinnied loudly.</p><p>"Are we there yet?" Lan asked Marcus, who had taken duty at steering the carriage. "The journey back won't be any easier, you know."</p><p>"Maybe Lord Wilson would give us hospitality until the storm blows over?"</p><p>Lan snorted. "I doubt it. He's not a diplomat by nature; he'd think we were sleeper agents. The finest of Niame, delivered soaking wet to his doorstep."</p><p>It was probably the least-kept secret on what Slade Wilson had been before becoming a lord. Out of all the lands in the Eastern dominion, Bludhaven had been the heart and ripest fruit of the access to the sea lanes, its position valued more than solid riches or armies. Back then Wilson had been a mercenary, one masked and armoured and almost always out of sight, until the day he planted a katana in the previous lord's spine and sat on the throne himself.</p><p>Things about Bludhaven had been...vague since then, to say in the least. The only details Lan could discern from fellow travelers was that the lord rarely met personally with petitioners or even prisoners, preferring to handle them through messengers. Some whispered that he still continued his previous line of work in the streets at night. Another rumour floated around, more scandalous than the others, that he had taken a courtesan for an unofficial consort, although Lan recalled snorting up water from that particular idea. The number two way of dying royally was via courtesan interaction; numbers one and three consisted of coups and unruly mercenaries, certainly.</p><p>"Ambassador of Niame," a guard called up from the wall. Lan peered out the window, wincing at the snow fluttering in his face. Grey. Grey all around. A dozen guards manned the wall, each armoured and armed with sword and crossbow. "I recognize the sigil on the carriage."</p><p>Marcus yelled up from the front: "If we need verification -- "</p><p>"Not needed. The Lord has been expecting you."</p><p>A small portcullis rose, and a heavy set of stone doors slowly inched open. Here, Lan slid his window fully open, even as more whirls of snow buffeted into the interior.</p><p>He wasn't sure what he expected -- huts and shacks, certainly, maybe mendicants crouching besides gutters or a messy, chaotic market plaza. It was all hard, straight roads instead, laced with metal, each house after the next a small, but sizeable unit. Stumpy; blocklike, almost identical, all shades of grey or brown. Industrial. The streets were relatively empty as well, although several of the units were lit softly by what Lan presumed was a hearth or lantern.</p><p>"It's...very organized," he finally said, his breath misting in a white puff of cloud. Marcus grunted in response.</p><p>They passed more of the units. The stores were a bit more varied, the alleys between dark but cleared. It wasn't exactly lively, Lan thought, but it was neat enough to provide comfort. Stable. Lan remembered Lord Wilson's roots again -- he would value efficiency above all else.</p><p>"We're nearing the castle," Marcus said, interrupting Lan's musings.</p><p>He was right. From his vantage, Lan could spot a...relatively plain abode, as far as royal dwellings were concerned. If it hadn't been in his better knowledge, he could've sworn it was a fortress, all dark heavy stone laced with metal, compact and cubical. No corners or ornaments wasted. The walls were higher here, and along the parapet Lan could spot dozens and dozens of soldiers, ready to fillet them on sight if they so much as made a wrong move.</p><p>Lan swallowed.</p><p>The carriage clicked over the lowered drawbridge. A series of gates swung open, each heavily wrought in metal. The bailey, unlike the city below, was rather bustling with activity. Lan couldn't call them servants, not exactly, when all of them wore a standard, grey uniform. The walls rose high above him. The carriage door swung open, and Lan almost fell out of surprise. He grabbed his satchel of documents. The cold hit him harshly in the face, cutting down to the bone.</p><p>"Sir Lan of --" the guard responsible glanced at the sigil -- "Niame. You're to follow me. The stablekeepers will take care of your horses."</p><p>Marcus made to follow after him. Lan shook his head, gesturing for him to follow the other guards instead. </p><p>Now that his boots were on solid ground again, if somewhat swamped in snow, Lan took a good, hard look at his guide. He was an older man, with slicked-back white hair and a small, cleanly-trimmed mustache, yet moved with the grace of one half his age. In contrast, Lan felt almost at unease in his doublet and furs. He rubbed his gloves together, unsure what to say.</p><p>"Nice place," he settled on.</p><p>The guard turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Lan flushed.</p><p>"Well," Lan amended, "it could use a bit more life, but I've seen worse." They walked across another moat, another moat, the trench filled with sharp long spikes. Lan tried to avoid looking down.</p><p>The guard chuckled at that. "I've been recommending that to him for years, Sir Lan."</p><p>Up a set of serpentine steps. Down between the banisters. It was easy to see where the old lord's castle ended and Lord Wilson's militarized leanings began; old, weathered stone dissolved into hard-edged surfaces. All metal and railings and walls. </p><p>"You know you're allowed to ask questions," the guard prodded, tone amused. Lan hastily tore his eyes from his surroundings. They had entered the inner areas of the castle; he could feel the heat of unseen hearths saturate the walls, which became ordinary stone. Inside had a bit more decoration, if still sparse; a few old tapestries, as well as a threadbare carpet.</p><p>"Well -- " Lan's mind raced through his questions. His tongue urged him to ask the consort one, but his rationality and desire to live had him land on a safer one instead. "I didn't see too many people on the streets. May I ask why?"</p><p>"Well, winter's upon us. I'm not sure why you expected anyone out in the snow."</p><p>"And the castle as well?"</p><p>"It's nighttime, Sir Lan. The only ones awake are those on night-shifts, and they're usually tending to the fires." The guard led him down a set of hallways, all painted a deep hue of bloodred. Lan felt slightly queasy. </p><p>"Is Lord Wilson planning to have a direct audience with me?"</p><p>"That will be up to his discretion, not mine."</p><p>The guard led him through a set of oaken double doors. The room that loomed ahead was wider, more spacious, the ceiling high and airy. A massive hearth was carved onto one wall, its logs crackling in flame. A plain, but rich carpet unfurled its way to a low dais, where a single chair rested.</p><p>Lan frowned. He had seen fancier thrones in the residences of seigneurs. The throne before him was deceptively simple, a black, high-back chair inlaid with a single dark ruby. Nothing like the elaborate jewels or gilded frames of the other thrones. A thin copper-coloured cushion rested on its seat. </p><p>The guard reached down and patted at Lan's waist. Lan choked, swearing.</p><p>"What are you -- !"</p><p>"Checking you for weapons." The guard knelt and thoroughly patted at him, even pressing fingers along his boots. He straightened, apparently satisfied. "You're clear."</p><p>The guard turned to leave. Lan reached out desperately.</p><p>"Wait, where am I supposed to -- "</p><p>"Good luck to your proposals and wishes, Sir Lan." The guard bowed his head, before strolling out the double doors. Lan didn't have to continue looking to know he had closed them.</p><p>He sighed, pawing at his satchel and pulling out a wad of documents. Each stamped with the seal of the Lord of Niame. He flipped through them, trying to memorize as many words as possible. Lord Wilson wasn't a man he wanted to fumble around in words with.</p><p>"He's not here," a voice supplied.</p><p>Lan processed the words, continued to read his paper -- and then it took him a second to realize that someone else was in the room. Shock flooded his veins, and he almost dropped his papers.</p><p>Right by the hearth, and Lan wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed the first time -- there was a small round table with two seats. One was empty, but the other had a young man lounging in it, eating off a plate of food like it was the most natural thing in the world. A few books were piled on the tabletop. </p><p>"Who are you?"</p><p>The man smiled at Lan's question, seemingly not deterred by the hostility. He was young, much younger than Lan's soldier guide, mid-twenties at most. Black hair thickly covered his head, and in the firelight they looked soft, like feathers. Blue eyes, sharp face, tanned skin, a body graceful and at ease with its limits, dressed almost casually in a loose beige, long-sleeved shirt and black pants. Something about the man rung a bell in the back of Lan's head.</p><p>"Who are you?" Lan repeated, trying to calm his voice. The man looked vaguely familiar, although Lan couldn't exactly </p><p>The man raised his eyebrows. "What, Billy didn't tell you?"</p><p>"<em>Billy?</em>"</p><p>"Never mind. Anyways, as I was saying," and here the man gestured to the empty seat, "he's not here." He effortlessly leaned back on his chair until the back two legs balanced precariously. "He's...indisposed, to put it plainly."</p><p>Lan squashed down the instinctive urge to fold his arms in nervousness. "...Indisposed. Lord Wilson, ruler of Bludhaven, is...<em>indisposed.</em>"</p><p>"Yup." The man made a zipping motion across his lips. "Even <em>out of commission,</em> if you will. You can take a seat if you want."</p><p>"I'd rather talk to him. I have an important matter to discuss with the Lord of Bludhaven."</p><p>This time when the man smiled, something about the curve of his mouth made Lan tense where he stood. "Well, asking repeatedly won't get him or his messengers out more quickly. You're better off waiting here with me."</p><p>Lan hesitated, but his legs <em>did</em> feel a little tired from walking to here. Reluctantly, he seated himself on the other chair, the fire behind slowly warming up his back. He took off the outermost layer of furs and laid it over the back of the chair.</p><p>The man noticed the disrobing. "Niame, huh? Not used to the cold?"</p><p>"Not particularly."</p><p>"Yeah, me neither. Took me a few months to get used to the winter." The man set his chair back down, scraping off the last of the food into his mouth. The speed he devoured the meal made Lan feel uncomfortable.</p><p>"You're an ambassador as well?" he finally asked.</p><p>The man laughed at that, bread still in his mouth. "Nope."</p><p>"Petitioner, then?"</p><p>"Not at all."</p><p>"Then what -- " A realization sunk slowly into Lan, even as the man set the earthenware plate down carefully. The clothes were too casually, with none of the formality of the doublets or uniform of courtwear. It wasn't armour, either. And the man himself was -- Lan had to admit -- fairly attractive, young, the shirt slightly open at the collar enough that he could see the gentle edge of collarbone. Lan remembered the baser rumours surrounding Lord Wilson.</p><p>
  <em>A courtesan.</em>
</p><p>Quickly, Lan scanned the man for any badge, any sigil, trying to prove himself wrong. Nothing about the man indicated any official rank. He didn't appear to be an official consort either, thankfully; back at Niame the lower lords and ladies' paramours often had some specific attire, or even brooch, to indicate their partner's higher status. The man here possessed none of that.</p><p><em>A common courtesan.</em> Strangely, Lan felt more nervous than before. He registered that the man was speaking to him -- </p><p>" -- could take it to his solar, but I doubt he'll...uh, hey? Are you still there?"</p><p>Lan hesitated, and the man misread his expression on his face.</p><p>"Sorry, I'm sorry. I don't think we introduced ourselves. Billy says you're Sir Lan, right?"</p><p>"...yes."</p><p>"I'm -- " the man hesitated, just for the beat of a second. "...you can just call me Dick, I guess."</p><p>Against his better judgement, Lan shook the man's hand. It didn't feel like a courtesan's hand, all soft and powdery; the fingertips were callused, the grip strong and firm. Hands that had held tools or weapons for a long period of time.</p><p>"Where's my manners? I didn't even think how exhausting your trip was. Do you need anything, Sir Lan? Water? Food? Any refreshments?"</p><p>"I..." Lan shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you."</p><p>"Well, if you're sure." Dick relaxed in his seat. "But you're free to tell me what brought you so far out of Niame here. Trade deal? Peace ally? Another supplement for the harvest?"</p><p>Lan wasn't sure if courtesans were supposed to be that acute; then again, it was possible Dick had been at the job for a good deal of time. He tried not to think on it. "It's undisclosed information."</p><p>"If it's important, it shouldn't be. The effects will be monumental enough."</p><p>"I can't just share it with anyone."</p><p>Dick grinned. "You came here in a carriage clearly carrying the sigil of Niame, you stroll in openly with Slade's right-hand man and army commander, and you entrusted the horses and your entourage with our soldiers. Your presence here will be known by every citizen of Bludhaven by midnight. If you don't want to share it with anyone, maybe try a more subtle approach next time." Dick shrugged one shoulder, folding his arms and resting on the back of his seat. "I wouldn't know. I'm just spitballing here."</p><p>Lan struggled for words, his fingers tight on the papers. </p><p>"I'll cut you a deal." Dick's voice lowered, low and tonal, and against his more rational urges Lan leaned forward to pay attention. Damn. "You tell me what's on the papers, and I'll make sure it gets straight to Slade right away. No middle managers here. Hell, I'll deliver it right after you tell me, and I'll make sure he comes back with an answer."</p><p>Lan glanced down at the papers, an internal war tugging at his sides. Maybe Dick was just a prostitute, a bedwarmer, but he <em>did</em> have direct access to the mercenary-turned-lord. And if Lan wanted to return to Niame before the worst of the storm hit...</p><p>"It's a marriage proposal for Lord Wilson," he edged the words out, not looking Dick in the face. </p><p>There was a moment of silence.</p><p>"A marriage proposal," Dick repeated, the smile dropping from his face.</p><p>"I -- " The blue eyes flashed, piercing and so utterly unlike the previous charm, that Lan faltered in his words. "Princess Carisa. Niame wishes to unite with Bludhaven, and -- and -- Carisa is a fine option of marriage. She's well-educated, learned in the arts and politics, recently of age, and she is heir to Niame as well."</p><p>"I've heard of her. You <em>know</em> that Slade is, what, more than twice her age?"</p><p><em>Well, his tastes definitely run</em> <em>young</em>. "The prosperity of peace and alliance of realms comes first before pleasure, sir." Dick's expression had gradually soured. "She is able to carry <em>heirs,</em>" Lan pointed out, taking some small grain of pleasure at seeing Dick scowl. </p><p>That small grain was crushed as Dick leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. "Okay, I'm just gonna ignore how antiquated all this crap is -- but you <em>do</em> realize that there's absolutely no way this marriage is ever going through, right? Like, absolutely not happening. It's not even in the realm of possibility."</p><p>"Lord Wilson hasn't even heard of this proposal yet."</p><p>"He's already <em>got</em> a consort, geez. It's -- "</p><p>Lan's irritation flared. "I don't think a common <em>courtesan</em> would know or care about any imitation of fidelity, sir -- "</p><p>"Sir Lan."</p><p>When Dick had previously spoke, it had been shock that coursed through Lan's veins. Now, at a rough, low tone of voice, cold horror seeped into his stomach.</p><p>Slowly, he turned around.</p><p>The guard from previous -- Billy, apparently -- stood at the now <em>open</em> double doors. That wasn't what drew Lan's attention; what did was the man besides the guard. Lan didn't need any portrait to know who it was.</p><p>Slade Wilson didn't immediately step into the throne room. He nodded once at Billy, and the other man patted his shoulder lightly before departing. The silence was crushing. Lan wasn't sure whether he should stay rooted or flee; he chose the former, his feet feeling like they were frozen to the floor.</p><p>Wilson was <em>tall.</em> Not freakishly so, but tall enough that it stood out. White hair grew out of what had likely been a military cut, coupled with a short white beard, the mouth and eyes -- <em>eye</em>, a dark grey patch rested over the right one -- bracketed with lines. He wore a uniform as plain and grey as the other soldiers, and only the slight stiffness in his movements told Lan that he was wearing armour. Early-to-mid forties, maybe. Maybe even older. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and Lan swallowed at that sight. </p><p>Lan opened his mouth, not exactly sure what he would say. Wilson beat him to it.</p><p>"Dick." The younger man perked up, the tenseness in his face relaxing. "I thought I told you to take the throne this time."</p><p>"It's uncomfortable. It's too far from the hearth."</p><p>"It has a cushion."</p><p>"Persuasive," Dick drawled, standing from his seat. Neither men paid an iota of attention to Lan. "I got hungry, anyways. Do you want me to make a meal for you as well? The chef wants to test out her recipe."</p><p>"I'll eat it with you later."</p><p>"I already <em>ate.</em> You could've just brought me along for the trip, y'know. An extra set of eyes and hands."</p><p>Wilson laughed softly at that as Dick stepped closer, and to Lan's pure shock, the former cupped the latter's face with thick, gloved fingers. "Well, who would run the place while I was away?"</p><p>"Wintergreen? Duh."</p><p>"He's more suited for the field." Slade made his way to the throne, Dick trailing after. Lan felt paralyzed to his chair. The ultimate surprise came when Dick sprawled onto the throne, Wilson leaning heavily against its backrest. </p><p>
  <em>What...</em>
</p><p>"Sir Lan." </p><p>It was almost fascinating in how quickly one could change tones. The voice that emanated from Wilson was cool now, contemplative, none of the muted warmth from before, and his single eye searched him carefully like he was picking him apart to the bone. The flames crackled in the hearth. Lan swallowed again, feeling like a metal rod had been stuffed down his throat. Another realization was building slowly, horribly, in his gut.</p><p>"What brings you here?"</p><p>Dick rose an eyebrow, staring directly at Lan. Daring him to lie.</p><p><em>Shit,</em> Lan thought, very unprofessionally.</p><p>Still, a paper shield was better than none. With trembling legs, he stood, and walked over to where Wilson leaned. Wilson looked blankly at him.</p><p>"Don't give the papers to me. Hand them to Grayson, will you?"</p><p>
  <em>Grayson.</em>
</p><p>The familiarity crashed down on Lan, all at once, even as Dick took the papers from his shaking grasp. Grayson. <em>Dick Grayson.</em> Nickname for Richard Grayson, the... the -- </p><p>
  <em>The fucking heir to Gotham.</em>
</p><p>How did he not notice that?</p><p>Dick was ruffling through the pages. "It's organized, really. They got a resume for Carisa and everything."</p><p>"So, like for a job, but instead for <em>marriage?</em>" Wilson chuckled. "That's really something."</p><p>Wilson leaned forward, head over Dick's shoulder, and Lan felt his stomach drop to his toes as Dick leaned back and nuzzled along the older man's jaw. Dick. Dick <em>Grayson.</em> Wilson was a powerful lord, but the line of the Waynes was as much royalty as a person could possibly get. And yet, here was the heir, sprawled against the throne, scanning one paper after another with a detached sort of amusement.</p><p>"Oh man," Dick laughed, holding one of the pages up to Wilson's eye, "read this one. Who even wrote this, anyway? <em>Princess Carisa has no worries on fertility: both her mother and previous women of her generation have birthed healthy children to continue the bloodline.</em> They're still doing this bloodline thing? It's even worse than the Ghuls."</p><p>Lan stifled down the confession that he had personally written it. </p><p>"I don't know, Dick. I'm considering it."</p><p>"She's younger than me,<em> creep.</em>"</p><p>"True, but think of all the benefits." Wilson ran his nose along the fringes of Dick's hair, sighing softly. "A secure alliance with Niame, and..." Wilson frowned. "That's it, I think. I promptly withdraw my consideration."</p><p>"What if I considered it?"</p><p>"By all means, be her consort if you want. But," and here, Wilson lowered his head so that his lips were right by Dick's ear, and even from his position Lan could see Dick shuddering softly. Wilson whispered something, and the suggestion of it made Dick flush pink. Wilson straightened. "So what do you think?"</p><p>"What, I'm wearing the pants today?" Dick rolled his eyes. "If you really want an excuse to get out of Bludhaven, I'll just have -- I don't know -- to tag along with you. I'm telling you, let Billy try out his hand in this."</p><p>"In the soul-crushing despair of bureaucracy? You may as well shoot him."</p><p>"Dastardly." Dick reached up and threaded his fingers through Wilson's white hair. Their lips brushed each other, tenderly, heatedly.</p><p>Lan dropped to his knees.</p><p>Both men were calm, although Dick had the courtesy of withdrawing his fingers. "Sir Lan. I thought you'd get the answer by now."</p><p>Lan closed his eyes and wished to every god existent that he could simply vanish off the face of the earth. Fate held no such luxuries, however; he opened them again, and shrank from the stares of blue and grey eyes. Shock and shame roiled into an unpleasant mix in his gut.</p><p>"Consorts," he finally choked out. "You're -- <em>you're</em> -- " Neither of them even wore crowns, or jewelry, or any other indicator of royalty -- one bore armour, while the other lounged in comfort -- but at the moment, in the hearthlight, they looked as regal as any other emperor.</p><p>"Married two months ago." Dick's stare was even. "A little off your guess, it seems."</p><p>"Sir Lan," Wilson cut in, his words careful and cold. "I'll have Wintergreen draw up a room for you tonight. Tomorrow, we can discuss...other fields of diplomacy, as it is."</p><p>Lan did his best not to collapse as he walked to the double doors. Before he could step across the threshold, however, Wilson spoke again. "One more word."</p><p>"The next time you liken my husband to a <em>whore,</em> sir," and Lan turned around slowly, dread seizing his core. Wilson was almost nonchalant as he tapped at the hilt of his sword. "I'll cut out your tongue."</p><p>Lan breathed in, breathed out, trying not to wet himself in front of the ruler of Bludhaven and the heir to Gotham.</p><p>"I'll keep that in mind," he offered weakly, and then he ran.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>"You don't have to scare him like that," Dick grumbled as Slade returned to the throne room, plate of food in hand. He had dressed into something more casual, if still monochrome. The fire was dying now. Embers popped and sparked along the logs.</p><p>"It wasn't a scare," Slade said, both of them settling at the table. Slade had been sure to bolt the double doors. "It was a promise."</p><p>"You'd destroy diplomacy just for a word?"</p><p>"I'd destroy it just for <em>you,</em> little bird." Slade ate slowly, his eye never leaving Dick's face. "We can always run away."</p><p>"Yeah, no. I thought you <em>didn't</em> want Wintergreen to run the gov."</p><p>"Compelling point, Dick." Slade reached over and snatched the goblet of water from Dick's hands, ignoring Dick's annoyed huff. He took a deep swallow, setting it back on the table. "Still, I'm feeling somewhat refreshed now."</p><p>"How refreshed?" Dick said, grinning sharply.</p><p>Slade glanced over at the throne, unable to stop the grin from forming on his own mouth. "Remember what I said to you? About what I could do to you on that chair?"</p><p>To Dick's credit, only a light brush of pink tinged his ears.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>edited for spelling errors</p><p>I'm thinking of adding more fics with "power couple" dynamic, maybe even in this same 'verse...maybe them teaming up to take crime down? space travel? survival pacts? so many options...can't guarantee they're all going to be healthy relationships, but I think these two work really well as a team.</p><p>Thanks for reading! Drop a comment if you want to.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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